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Dear Charles,—“Mr. Keen says the Flag is tolerable!”
Well, that is more than Mr. Keen is. If he is so
hard to please, why does he not do his own articles, and let
us have a specimen of perfection? I suppose, however, Mr.
Keen, like most other critics, imagines his duty is simply to
criticise, although incapable of writing himself.

I have more than once read little poems and long tales, of
a very unmerciful and desperately unsparing and wholly
unpleasable cynic, which were certainly a little inferior
to his neighbor's wares, that in the same magazine had been
ruthlessly dashed and torn. Many a looker-on thinks he
could play chess better than either of the two engaged, who,
when his turn comes, moves with egregious blundering.

However, as I never set up for a tall poet, I have not far
to fall. Come, I will try again—two sonnets are suffixed,
like a long bob-tail to a little kite.

Yours ever,

R. Carlton.

SONNET—PRIMO.
TO AN ABSENT WIFE.

I.
O come, love!
Our home is very sad!
Oh! do not stay
So long away,
But haste to make us glad
Once more, love!

II.
O come, love!
Our brood requires thy wing!
They climb my seat,
And there repeat
Thy name—I bid them sing
Thy song, love!

III.
O come, love!
Our food is tasteless now;

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It needs thy care
To dress our fare,
And drive from low'ring brow
The clouds, love!

IV.
O come, love!
Our flow'rs bloom not so gay!
I watch and train,
But all in vain—
They smell, nor look to-day
So sweet, love!

V.
O come, love!
Our music all is flown!
Sad is the flute
Without thy lute;
I cannot bear alone
To play, love!

VI.
O come, love!
Our babes within my breast
Close tearful eyes,
And with their sighs
For thee, prevent my rest
At night, love!

VII.
O come, love!
Our home is very drear,
Till thy lov'd face
In every place
Beam smiles, and there we hear
Thy voice, love!

SONNET—SECUNDO.
THE WIFE'S REPLY.

I.
I come, dear!
Our home!—it thrills my heart
With joys and fears,
Mid gushing tears!
Sweet home!—we must not part
Again, dear.

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II.
I come, dear!
Our brood!—I hear their voice,
Like birds in nest
'Neath feather'd breast!
The song!—I must rejoice
With thee, dear!

III.
I come, dear!
Our food!—the coarsest meal
Is sweet with you,
My fond and true!
To spread our board I feel
So proud, dear?

IV.
I come, dear!
Our flow'rs! how bright and fair
In parterre neat,
With fragrance sweet
Grateful they grow for care
From thee, dear!

V.
I come, dear!
Our music!—how we'll sing
At twilight's hour
In favorite bower,
Till mountain echo ring
With “home,” dear!

VI.
I come, dear!
Our babes!—they shall not weep!
A mother's arm,
Thrown round, like charm,
Soon lulls to gentle sleep
The babes, dear!

VII.
I come, dear!
Oh, joy!—our home!—our home!
No! no!—I stay
Too long away!
Sad lot were mine to roam
From that, dear!